Tag: La Mome

On the shelf are three stand-alones by Ivy: Apartment Life; Long Distance; In The Clear. In 1997 I read a review of Apartment Life and picked it up in December of that year. I enjoyed it enough to pick up another two of their releases. This is cafe music. Easy listening songs about love, loss, longing & travel. There is a decided French influence that adds to their appeal. Singer Dominique Durand has a sweet whisper of a voice – like Brigitte Bardot or Jane Birken. Appealing, almost romantic, background music for making out.

The opposite is true for Millie Jackson – she doesn’t make background music. On an mp3 collection I have – Caught Up; Still Caught Up; Pleasure. All are classic r’n’b soul. Millie has a fine raspy voice. The albums are all concept albums about obsessive love gone wrong from the pov of the stalker. This is great music that taps romance in a highly relatable way as opposed to the blissful lovey dovey love song way.

Also in this mp3 collection is Sister Monica: as the name suggests this is secular gospel music mixed with real life 🙂 She has rich full voice. Worth checking out. As is Alice Ruiz & Rogeria Holtz’s No Pais de Alice – fun Latino music with a message I nearly understand. Finally in this collection is a return to real French with La Mome: the soundtrack to the 2007 Piaf film. Recordings of Piaf, some slightly remixed for the sound track plus some of actual soundtrack music. This is a soundtrack that doesn’t need the movie for you to enjoy it.

I first heard Laurence Jalbert on MuchMusic’s French Kiss (no longer on the air) A P.Q. Bonnie Riatt but with more sensuality. I have stand-alones of her 1st & Corridors. Both bought in Montreal. Like many Quebecois singers her style ranges from r/n/b, soul, pop, a touch of country, some with traditional influence, even jazz. A warm inviting voice. My French hasn’t improved though 🙂

Protect

From were he stood on the crest of a small hill Tom could only hear broken phrases. A group of voices chanting in the night. The wind broken up the chant, as did the trees between him and them. The voices rose and fell almost with the rise and fall of the waves that crashed at the base of the cliffs. The timing had to deliberate yet how could it be?

‘What are you listening to?’ Steve asked.

‘Can’t you hear it?’

‘Sounds like the wind in the trees.’

‘No. It’s more than that.’

‘Perhaps a blood sacrifice to the moon?’

‘More like some drunken kids howling at the moon.’

The wind dropped suddenly. There was a cool stillness around them. A figure stepped out ten feet in front of them A te‚enage boy with a sloppy smile and even sloppier clothes.

‘Yo, watcha gawkin’ man. Take a good look while you can. There’s nothing other than the moon and you be the snake skin soon soon.’

Several other teens stepped out around them. Each repeating the same phrases.

‘We seem to have …’

‘Yo, man, no say anything. We protect. You be needin’ protection.’

The circle of teens pressed closer. All boys, about fifteen or sixteen years old.

‘We should be getting back to our hotel.’ Steve said.

‘You be stain’ at Casa Trib’mana?’

‘Yes.’ Tom flexed his hands, ready.

‘Not to worry, man, we’ll not harm you. Others would be doing that, but we aren’t like that. We protect. Protect the foolish likes of you.’

In the dim light Tom couldn’t make out the faces of these teens clearly, but as they came closer, he saw streaks of scarlet had been drawn around the eyes, several short dashes of green along the chin.

‘You look at our whiskers.’ the first teen said. ‘We make our selves fit the world. You see this world.’

The boys spread out and vanished except for the first boy.

‘You better be head, back. A night like this isn’t one for strangers. You know my meaning. Not for strangers who have no idea where the world is headin. You need help ask for Rumba. I be Rumba.’

‘Thanks.’ Frank turned around. They headed back up the path.

‘Did you get all that?’ he asked Tom.

‘I think so.’ he tapped the bag that held the video camera. ‘That was best we’ve gotten so far.’

They said I should talk more, what a bore, with the courtesy of an itchy sore, festering, brooding, puss squeezing out the door of my mind. For one does not simply walk into Mordor! Please, please, please sir may we have some more?